


Yaz Makes a Speech

by 17495



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, thasmin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:40:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25067824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/17495/pseuds/17495
Summary: Yaz makes a kind of Doctor-y speech. Thasmin, always.  Standard disclaimers apply.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Kudos: 14





	Yaz Makes a Speech

The Doctor was cross. Again. She hadn’t said anything, but Yazmin Khan could tell, since, well, she hadn’t said anything. It was, what, ages now. Or maybe 15 minutes. Same thing, really, especially when it came to the normally voluble Doctor. Fine, then. Yaz shook out her shoulders and stood up straight. Professional presence, she reminded herself.

“Doctor,” she ventured. Nothing. Well, that wouldn’t do, would it. You can’t just ignore people when they’re talking to you. “Doctor.” The Doctor stopped and looked at her. Yaz wished she had planned this out a little better. The Doctor waited. Impatiently. Yaz swallowed. More accurately, she gulped like a goldfish, eyes wide, no sound coming out. The Doctor turned her head to the left just enough to look at Yaz out of the corner of her eye. She looked tired.

“Doctor, how long do you intend to avoid me?”   
“Doctor, why are you constantly puttering with the TARDIS when she seems perfectly fine?”  
“Doctor, are you hoping I’ll get bored and just go away?”  
“Doctor, what have I done to warrant that look?”

In the end, she settled for, “Doctor, when’s the last time you slept?”

“Not that long ago, really. I think. What day is it? Never mind, doesn’t matter. Lots to do.” And she turned back to the endless dial-twisting and flitting about that seemed to occupy most of her time now. “Doctor, what do you do when nobody’s here?” The words came out before Yaz could stop them. Her heart ached at the increasingly haggard appearance of the heretofore sprightly ball of magic that was The Doctor and she had to find out before her courage failed her. 

Once again, The Doctor stopped her flight around the TARDIS and turned to face Yaz. Sadness and regret chased each other across her face, until her features settled on resignation. “I travel. It’s what I do.”

“You run.”   
“Sometimes.”  
“More than sometimes.”  
“Maybe. I do like the running part.”  
“That’s not what I meant.”  
“Oh.”  
“I know you’ve said it before, that you’ve loved more and lost more than we can understand.”  
“I have.”  
“But you know you won’t lose me.”  
“They all leave me, Yaz. You humans dance too briefly upon the stage.”  
“But you still carry them all. In your heart. And what you’ve also said is that you believe in hope. And love.”  
“Did I say that? Sounds awfully romantic; you might want to check your source.”  
“You, Doctor, ARE a romantic. Why else would love make you so sad?”  
“Because I know what it’s like when it’s gone.”  
“Well you can shut yourself down to protect yourself if you need to, but there’s something even a Time Lord can’t do, and that's keep me from loving you. I do, and I will. I will love you until my last breath, and when I’m gone you can keep that in your heart, and let it make you strong. Because love does make you strong, doesn’t it? And for the rest of your days, you can say to yourself, ‘Yasmin Khan loved me.’ And that will always be true.”

The Doctor turned her head and stared at Yaz, who somehow was now standing next to her. Yaz held her breath. As if detached from her body, her left hand floated up to touch the Doctor’s cheek. So, so gently, as if the spell might break. As if the Doctor herself might break. She leaned, pulled by the gravity of the Doctor’s being, and breathed the Doctor’s breath. Their lips brushed, the barest of contact, and suddenly space and time ceased to exist. There was only the feeling of the Doctor’s lips on hers. Then, oddly, the taste of salt. Yaz fumbled back to the world of the sensate, searching for the source of this incongruity, and found it in the trace of a tear down the Doctor’s face. “Is this a good tear, or a bad tear?” “It’s a ‘five points for Yaz’ tear,” and the Doctor grinned.


End file.
